


Fast Lane

by devera



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Episode 1x16 Risk, M/M, Missing Scene, One Shot, Plot What Plot, Unconfirmed voyeurism, Where Does Finch Go?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devera/pseuds/devera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thinks Adam is a bit of a dick. But he's getting more interesting by the minute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fast Lane

**Author's Note:**

> A little while ago, I was saying in regards to OTP that I didn't really have one so much as I see John as a little like a slinky black dress who would, I believe, look good on anyone. So here he is, looking good on that trader from the episode _Risk_. And yes, if you were wondering, I can and will interpret pretty much all innocent male on-screen interaction into something porny. Call it a hobby.

He knows what the smile on his face looks like. He knows equally that this kid has no idea what the smile is for. Maybe he thinks John is impressed. Who the hell knows. All John knows is that sometimes the instinct to roll his eyes is almost more than he can manage.

Has he ever played Russian Roulette?

Well, when he's had occasion to, it hasn't been with stocks. Not that that's something the kid has to know, and he's been polite enough to give John a ride home after John facilitated his hasty exit from the bar, but he's a bit of a dick, really. Still, John supposes, he's an _interesting_ dick, and he's becoming more and more interesting each minute. 

"I'm not drunk," the kid assures, his hands fumbling at John's belt as he pushes John up against Porche's door interior and leans towards him. John knows he's not, of course, because he's been watching the kid all night, but alcohol isn't the only drug that can get a guy high. John understands. Adam's had a big day that started with the a deal that made his company millions and ended with a bar fight.

"I know," John agrees, letting himself be pushed. "If you'd been drunk I wouldn't have let you drive." 

The kid laughs a little breathlessly and looks up at John, his eyes blown with the same kind of focused excitement that was in his face while he was driving through town like a wheel man, showing off to John like it would impress him. "You're- You're so in charge. Jesus, like the way you punched out Frankie tonight? Holy shit. You were so fast I didn't even realise what you'd done until you'd done it. And then we were just gone, like, _out_ of there, like we didn't even exist. That was- That was really..."

John supposes he's about to say ‘cool' or ‘awesome' or something equally hip, but it wasn't any of those things - it was pretty much just part of John's daily routine. He understands where the kid is coming from though. Of course he does. It's not like the thrill of a fight, of getting out of somewhere virtually unscathed before the shit hit the fan hasn't made him hard before, just usually not in relation to bar brawls.

"I have my moments," he agrees. "Knowing when things are about to get bad and getting out clean before they do is one of the reasons I'm employed."

"Right, right," Adam says, too distracted with moving on from John's open belt to the fly of his trousers to sound truly like he's listening. Eyes on the goal, John guesses. "But right now is not one of those times."

John looks at him, or rather, the top of his head as he concentrates on his task. He's a good looking kid. It's not like John didn't notice on a purely objective level. Young, fresh – but he's not an innocent. If that wasn't clear before - the way he stood up to those so-called buddies of his, the way he took a hit and then came back in swinging - then it's definitely clear now. John doesn't really need his hands down his expensive trousers to come to that conclusion.

Of course, it doesn't hurt to have the hard evidence in hand.

"No," John drawls, shifting for extra room and only just managing to keep his voice even as Adam's fingers insinuate themselves into his boxers and slide with excruciating slowness down his dick. Part of him is thinking about Harold, possibly still on the other end of the line, possibly wondering what the hell their conversation is about, but it's not that big a part right now. "I think I have to agree."

"That, Mister Reed, is what I was hoping you'd say." And with that, and a particularly dirty smile, Adam is leaning the rest of the way over John's lap, one hand braced on John's bespoke-clad thigh as he draws John's cock out of his boxers, opens his mouth and sucks John down.

The air freezes in John's lungs with that first bold touch, and his heart gives a good solid kick against his ribcage. He debates the merits of putting his hands on Adam's head, of pushing him down harder, of thrusting, because if he's read the kid right from the way he drives and the games he likes to play, a little bit of force will probably be an incentive. But he's also conscious of the fact that they're not that well hidden, parked on the side of a street, that someone could walk by at any point and take a look in the window. That would be no real skin off John's nose, but he's also aware that Harold may or may not be inadvertently listening in while Adam Saunders, golden child of Baylor Zimm and more importantly their current in-need-of-help number, is blowing John fairly skillfully and not a little noisily.

John could turn off his phone, but fuck it. Finch will only ask later why he cut off, and he honestly couldn't be bothered making something up. Either he leaves it on and doesn't have to deal with the questions, or he turns it off and tells Finch he was giving the kid some privacy in which to work.

And the kid is definitely dedicated to his work. He's sucking John off almost like he drives, hard and fast and straight through all the signals. John tips his head back and just goes with it, measuring his breathing, concentrating on the feel of Adam's mouth, his lips, his fucking wicked tongue. He makes him work for it, and when the kid gets it right with an evil little twist of his hand around John's base, lips probably touching his knuckles and the crown of John's cock compressing at the back of his throat, he doesn't begrudge him the sound he makes.

"Fuck," he breathes, a second after, just in case the kid had any concerns he wasn't enjoying himself.

"John, come on," Adam pants, sliding off for a second to give John a look that pushes the temperature in the cabin up a couple of degrees. "What the fuck are you waiting for?"

John licks his lips and looks back. "I was being polite," he explains, and he's probably not doing that good a job of hiding his smirk.

"Polite?" the kid snorts. "I want you to, so just come on already."

John has to admit he's a little impressed. All or nothing with this kid. It's a dangerous way to live. Which doesn't mean John isn't appreciating it right now.

"All right," he agrees, and pushes his fingers through the kid's hair, deliberately messing him up a little before getting a decent, careful fist full and starting to push. "Get down there then, if you want it."

He doesn't wait for the kid to agree; there's no need. Adam's going, and the sound he makes when John pushes him back down is loud and lewd and eager enough, muffled by the slide of John's cock all the way to the back of his throat and further. John breathes through that one, closing his eyes and if Finch had any doubts about what they were doing before, he probably doesn't now. He thrusts carefully, holding Adam in place, and lets the sensation rule him, lets the feeling build in his balls and his gut and lets his thoughts go where they will, the only time he ever does. He lets himself think about having this kid naked in a bed and fucking him, or getting fucked by him, thinks about how it'd be, how the kid would want it hard and fast and dirty and make a lot of noise. It'll never happen of course, but John likes the idea enough to think about it. 

He lets himself think about Harold listening in right now too, shocked enough that he forgets to cut their connection. Or maybe he's not shocked at all? Maybe he likes it. Maybe he's getting hard, listening to the unmistakable sounds Adam is making. Maybe he's imagining what kind of picture they make, Adam with his mouth around John's cock and John with his own lips parted, breathing rapidly, his eyes glazed with lust. Maybe he would want to watch, if he could, or even want a little action himself, Adam on the floor in front of his chair, between his knees, giving his million dollar client the kind of service usually only provided metaphorically. It makes a nice picture in the privacy of John's head, makes him groan out loud and on purpose, just for the effect, and push Adam down a little further. 

Adam takes it as encouragement and moans around John and sucks even harder. His hand slides down to massage John's balls where they're still nestled inside his boxers, and suddenly John can't think at all of anything much but _fuck yes_. There's nothing except for the pressure and the heat and, Christ, Adam's _mouth_ , and he pushes the kid down again, not completely conscious of the force he's applying. He can feel himself sliding right past the kid's gag reflex, pulls in a surprised breath at the feel of his throat convulsing around him and just let's himself go, a hot, heady rush that makes his toes curl in his Italian leather shoes, makes him grunt softly and clench his hands harder in Adam's hair than he means to.

The kid takes it for a few seconds while John rides out his orgasm and then starts pushing back. John takes a quiet, shuddering breath and lets him up, and he's not sure he should be impressed or not when the kid sits up and gives him a breathless, mega-watt grin. His mouth, pretty before, is sinful now, swollen and wet. His hair in no way approximates his normally neatly combed arrangement, and his creamy skin is flushed pink. John momentarily rethinks that idea of not being able to drag the kid off to a bed somewhere. He's a resourceful guy, right? Surely he can work something out.

"You want me to take care of that?" he asks, glancing down at the kid's lap. Nice to see it wasn't a completely one sided exchange.

"Nah," Adam says, and he looks restless and electrified, like light is crackling just under the surface of his skin. "Think I'll go pay a visit to someone. Got some more celebrating to do."

John's flattered at the implication he's been part of the festivities.

"Okay," he says, tucking himself back in and fastening his trousers again before reaching for the door handle and pushing the door open. "Then, thanks for the ride home."

Adam grins at him again, apparently liking the cheap double entendre. "My pleasure, man. We got an appointment tomorrow at eleven, right? So I'll see you then."

John smiles back. "I'll be there," he confirms. "Drive safe now, Adam."

Adam laughs. "Will do. Will do. Good night, Mister Reed. Thanks for the drink." He grins again as John climbs out of the car, and it's almost all John can do not to shake his head as he swings the door shut after him. _Drink_ , huh? Cheeky little bastard. John almost actually likes him.

John stands back and watches as the kid revs the engine and pulls out from the kerb, flashy and fast. He figures he's got maybe a minute until the kid's too far for him to tail him, and without a pairing on his phone, John doesn't want to lose him. He turns and heads for the sedan he left parked a few spaces back this afternoon, fetches the bag with his gear in it, climbs in behind the wheel and turns the ignition.

"Mister Reese."

John's hands freeze on the wheel at the sound of Finch's voice in his ear.

"Yes, Harold?"

"Did I miss anything? I was momentarily away."

John stares at the street in front of him, then shakes himself out of it, pulls out from the curb and swings round the corner just in time to catch Adam pulling away from the lights up ahead.

"You turned off your phone?" he says and he's really not sure whether he feels relieved or disappointed.

"Only breifly," Finch says, sounding not in the least bit defensive. "I was on the other line."

"Well," John drawls, tailing Adam carefully through the traffic. Thankfully he's driving a little more sensibly now. "You didn't miss anything important. Adam just dropped me off, and now I'm following him to see where he's going."

"All right, Mister Reese," Finch confirms. "Just keep your phone on."

John's far too professional to laugh out loud at that, but the irony makes him smile nonetheless.

"Always do, Finch," he murmurs, watching Adam's tail lights ahead. "Always do."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Roulette](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198656) by [rollingwave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rollingwave/pseuds/rollingwave)




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